


Green Room

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: College AU, F/M, Gen, Grad Student AU, Theatre AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: They have rules.They are unspoken, but as far as she is concerned they still stand.No touching in public. Ever.She loves her internship.She wants to keep her internship.
Relationships: Floréal/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 3





	Green Room

They have rules.

They are unspoken, but as far as she is concerned they still stand.

No touching in public. Ever.

She loves her internship. _She wants to keep her internship._

And though she knows sleeping with the director who happens to be married to the head of the costume department is the quickest way to jeopardize said internship… he’s handsome if she squints. And attentive in bed (at least compared to the man-children of the theatre department she’s put up with over the past three years). He’s admittedly an arrogant prick 90% of the time but he works outside of the University, often with major Equity houses, and _she wants to design_. She wants to have her own staff doing her bidding and making beautiful things that come out of her own head.

He has promised to recommend her when his wife is on sabbatical for the next mainstage show. It’s _Twelfth Night_ and his concept is ludicrous but she’s salivating at having free reign over the shop and something substantial to add to her portfolio. It’s an opportunity to be _noticed_.

So she doesn’t punch him when he grabs her ass as she’s sewing an undergrad into a corset, but she does stiffen because though it would be hard to determine what he’s done from the view of the house where his wife is reviewing her notes from the costume parade along with the SM and several actors, behind her is someone who has a clear view.

His name is Grantaire (last name she’s assuming), and he has been coming in as a favor to the TD whom she and Irma have dubbed _The Hot Ginger_ to help with painting. From what she’s gleaned he’s not a theatre student. Judging by the state of his clothes and the fact that he’s been replicating the look of pink marble to a column of paper mache perfectly, she’d say Art major. He’s had his earbuds in for most of the week which The Hot Ginger has tried to explain several times, for safety reasons, he really should _take them off Grantaire, please. You’re going to get smacked in the face with a two by four, You’re going to get crushed by the fire curtain._ To which he’d shrugged and said _Listening to this asshole is worse than the slim possibility of maiming_ and nodded in Derek’s general direction.

She’d laughed at that and he’d caught her eye, held it just long enough to determine she wasn’t laughing at _him_ and then stuck his earbuds defiantly back into his ears as The Hot Ginger mumbled, _please don’t sue the department when you get a concussion…_

He moves away after one final pat on her bottom and she cuts the thread with her teeth feeling Grantaire staring at her as she murmurs, “You can take a seat now, Melanie.”

And then she gathers her kit and leaves the stage thinking, _please please please don’t say anything._

She loves her internship.

She wants to _keep_ her internship.

And she wants fucking _Twelfth Night._

She starts her repair work on the braiding that’s coming loose on one of the capes but she’s so distracted she stabs herself twice. 

_Just go find him after your shift. If he’s not still working you can just get his number from The Hot Ginger and ask him to forget what he saw because reporting Derek isn’t going to do shit and it will only make Marie suspicious and possibly get me railroaded out of the program and-_

“ _Oh my fucking god_ ,” Irma comes bursting into the shop, clutching her ribs and Floreal winces, sticking her thumb in her mouth again. “You will _not_ _believe_ what just happened!”

"Is everyone released?”

“Yeah, actors are changing.”

“Is she coming down?”

“No, heading out - gave me her work notes though.”

“Is that guy still painting? Grantaire, or whatever?”

“No. _No, he is not_ ,” and she bursts into laughter all over again.

"The fuck, Irma?”

“Ok, so. Derek’s on the stage, right, giving notes? Everyone’s in the house and that guy jumps off his ladder, comes up right beside him and like, calm as you please, reaches over and _cups Derek’s ass_.”

“ _No_.”

“ _Yes_. It was _amazing_.”

"What happened?”

“Derek flipped out because it’s Derek and fired him and then reamed out The Hot Ginger for hiring a “degenerate” and the guy was like, _"Actually, I’m a volunteer”_ and then flipped him off and left. I need to find that guy and buy him like, 50 beers, I swear to god…”

\---

She finds him on the stage after everyone’s gone home.

He’s still painting marble onto paper mache, but under a work light now, a bag of fast food and a six-pack at his feet, one cracked open, one crushed beside it.

She comes up beside him and taps him on the shoulder and he jumps and whirls around, streaking pink paint across her chest.

”Fuck! Sorry! Shit!”

He yanks the earbuds out of his ears.

“I thought you were fired-”

“What?”

“I thought you got fired.”

He points at himself stiffly with the dripping paintbrush.

“Volunteer. You can’t fire a volunteer.”

 _He’s cute_ _,_ she thinks. In a messy/sleepy/possibly stoned and/or drunk kind of way. Which used to totally be her type before she decided she didn’t want it to be anymore.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You groped Derek-”

“-Figures he’d be named _Derek_ -”

“-to make a point, I presume.”

He shrugs.

“Couldn’t resist _dat ass_ _._ ” 

She laughs leaning down to steal a french fry and he raises an eyebrow at her when she grabs one of his beers as well and cracks it.

"So why are you still here?” she asks and takes a long pull, looking him straight in the eye and is she flirting? She might be flirting.

“Feuilly needed help. Look, I’ll be gone in 20. I didn’t think anyone would actually still be around…”

“They’re not. Everyone’s gone home.”

“Then why are _you_ still here.”

"Because Irma had a date and stuck me with her half of the work list and I’m a sucker so I let her. She wants to buy you a drink, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like, several.”

“Excellent.”

She sets the empty can down and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. He’s looking at her lips and she licks them and, ok, yes, definitely flirting.

“Can I help?”

“Can you paint?”

“A little.”

He hands her one of his brushes from his pocket with a twirl. “Then let’s make some bacon,” and she snorts at that because now that he’s said it it really does look like it.

They work side by side silently for a moment until he says, glancing down at her chest, and then away, "Sorry I fucked up your shirt.”

“Believe it or not, I actually have another one.”

“I don’t. I don’t believe it.”

“Walk me home after and I’ll show you.”

His brush pauses mid-stroke and then starts up again, a slow slide.

“Are you propositioning me, Floréal?”

“Maybe. How do you know my name?”

“I asked Feuilly 5 seconds after I saw you.”

She smiles at him as he keeps painting, pointedly not looking at her and wordlessly hands her one of his earbuds. She sticks it in and crowds in close to him, mimicking what he’s doing with the paint and he smells like cigarettes and beer and _boy_ and

“Is this… _Kesha?_ ”

“Yessa.”

\---

They end up in the green room making out on one of the couches, and he smiles softly at the streak of paint across her skin that sank through the fabric of her t-shirt as she pulls it off over her head. His lips say “ _pretty”_ as he traces the color with his fingers before he dips his head and kisses her breast and she thinks, _this is a very bad idea_ as she tangles her fingers in his messy hair.

His hands go to the button of her jeans and she pulls his head back by his hair to breathe against his mouth, “we’re not fucking each other ok?” and he closes his eyes, bites his lip, and _“_ _yeah ok, whatever you want, awesome_ _“_ as she rocks against his hand and kisses him some more and he’s _enthusiastic_ which is kind of adorable and maybe she’s missed messing around with boys and she shoves his own shirt up and off and licks the tattoo over his heart of a radioactive symbol and thinks, looking down at it, _Don’t I know it…_


End file.
